


Helping Hand

by soroga



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (or is it), F/F, One-Sided Attraction, Rated for Ingrid's Thirst, Sexual Repression, Unresolved Sexual Tension, summer alts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soroga/pseuds/soroga
Summary: Ingrid can’t believe Dorothea abandoned her to this. After all of Dorothea’s sighing about Ingrid’s unfamiliarity with makeup, she really left Ingrid to teach Byleth how to put on sunscreen?
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Helping Hand

Ingrid shades her eyes and sighs as she looks down towards the ocean. 

It’s beautiful, of course. The water is a deep, serene blue that churns white with every crash of its foamy waves. The sand is bright and hot underfoot, fine enough to slide every which way instead of crunching, and soft enough that Ingrid can walk on it barefoot and feel the absorbed heat of the sun through her toes. There’s even a light breeze that’s just strong enough to ruffle the edges of the beach umbrellas that dot the shoreline without threatening to blow anything away. And everyone’s wearing their swimsuits. With so many people in ruffles and bright colors that are way more eye-catching than her own, Ingrid doesn’t even feel as self-conscious and out-of-place in her own outfit as she did when she was shopping for it with Annette and Mercedes.

But out of all the people to actually get to go on this beach vacation, why did two of them have to be Sylvain and Lorenz?

Already she sees that Sylvain has procured two wide-mouthed, brightly-colored drinks from somewhere and is offering one to a girl who is clearly just trying to get past him and swim. From this distance, Ingrid can see the girl put her hands on her hips, right where the line of her bright red bikini starts, and the obvious dip of Sylvain’s head as he follows the motion.

Sooner or later someone is going to drag him into the water and try to drown him. He will probably deserve it, but Ingrid is going to have to spend her whole vacation trying to prevent it anyway. 

She tightens her grip on her lance as she picks her way down the hill made by the hot sand in the places too far from the water for the tide to smooth down, but she hardly gets halfway to the shoreline before she’s intercepted by Dorothea, who loops her sun-warmed arm in Ingrid’s. 

“Ingrid, darling,” she sighs, “you really don’t understand the meaning of the word vacation, do you?” 

“I do!” Ingrid protests, trying to look around the massive brim of Dorothea’s floppy black hat and down towards the water. “But you know how Sylvain is.” 

Dorothea keeps propelling Ingrid along towards the nearest cluster of umbrellas, but she graciously uses her free hand to shove the side of her hat up, letting Ingrid see past her to where Sylvain is...alone, crouching in the shallows as he splashes himself with seawater in an attempt to get his drink out of his hair.

“Sylvain has survived being the way he is for years now,” Dorothea says, rolling her eyes. “I doubt you were there to protect him every second. Maybe it’s time to stop using him as an excuse not to have fun. Especially when there’s so _much_ fun to be had.” 

Ingrid narrows her eyes. “That just sounds like I’ll be dealing with your trouble instead of Sylvain’s.” 

“Does it?” Dorothea asks innocently. “Ingrid, you really need to learn what it sounds like when someone’s helping you.” Then she waves her free hand and smiles broadly. “Hello, Professor! How are you enjoying the shade?”

Ingrid’s eyes snap forward. She was so busy keeping an eye on Sylvain and then Dorothea that she hadn’t noticed Byleth lounging under the nearest umbrella. This close by, it’s impossible to miss her, spread out on her back on a black towel that only emphasizes every line of her body. And there’s a lot to emphasize - she’s wearing a tight black bikini that barely covers her, its thin straps only making its inadequacy to the task more obvious. Her breasts spill out of the sides of her top and her bottom is so low-cut that Ingrid can follow the lines of her hips all the way down without interruption.

“It’s nice,” Byleth says, which makes Ingrid realize she hasn’t looked at Byleth’s face once. Flushing, she forces her eyes up. Byleth looks...good. Happy, almost; there’s a little smile playing over her usually blank face and her eyes are relaxed. It’s a good look on her. Ingrid smiles back. 

“Oh, but you _have_ to get some sun sometime, Professor!” Dorothea says. “I insist. That’s half the fun of the beach. Did anyone bring any sunscreen?”

“I did,” Ingrid says automatically. 

“Well there you go. Ingrid will help you apply it, and then you two can go frolic in the sun for a while.” 

“Okay,” Byleth says.

“What,” Ingrid says.

“For the record, what you’re hearing now? That’s what it sounds like,” Dorothea whispers to Ingrid before extricating her arm from Ingrid’s. At a normal volume, she continues, “well, you two have fun! And remember, you need to put the lotion on _all over_.” 

“ _Dorothea!_ ” Ingrid hisses, but it’s too late; Dorothea’s already making her way down the beach, one hand against the brim of her hat to keep it secure in the wind, the other elegantly fanning out her beach skirt so that it billows prettily behind her. 

Ingrid briefly considers throwing her lance in Dorothea’s general direction, just to make her opinion known. But then she’d have to retrieve it, and Byleth is already staring at her expectantly. (Well, blankly. But Ingrid’s pretty sure this particular blankness means she’s waiting for something.) 

Ingrid sets her lance down and fumbles in her bag for the lotion. She brought plenty in little stoppered vials, the kind they usually use for concoctions, and it’s no trouble at all to grab a full one and hold it out to Byleth. “Here, Professor.”

Byleth sits up to take it, leaning on one hand as she examines the vial in her other. Then she goes back to looking at Ingrid. 

“...are you going to put it on?” Ingrid tries to sound encouraging instead of puzzled. She’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

Byleth looks back down at the vial. She takes the cork out and immediately upends it, letting the contents spill out and pool on her thighs. The thick white liquid soaks into the bottom of her swimsuit and runs down the sides of her thighs. 

“Professor!” Ingrid sighs, moving forward to grab some of the lotion - and then stopping, her hand frozen an inch about Byleth’s thighs. She can’t just...reach down and scoop the liquid out from Byleth’s slippery thighs. She won’t. So instead she sits there, looking up at Byleth. “Do you really not know how to put on sunscreen?”

Byleth shakes her head. 

Ingrid can’t believe Dorothea abandoned her to this. After all of Dorothea’s sighing about Ingrid’s unfamiliarity with makeup, she really left Ingrid to teach Byleth about lotion? 

“You have to use less than that,” Ingrid says, watching the lotion drip down from between Byleth’s thighs. They’re pressed together, but fat drops of cream still make their way down between them, soaking into the towel below. “And you need to rub it in. Could you give me a little of yours?”

Byleth runs her hand up the space between her thighs, cupping her hand as she turns it to offer it up to Ingrid.

Ingrid’s not blushing as she runs her hand over Byleth’s, gathering up the lotion. She’s not. There’s no reason to.

“Like this,” she says, putting the lotion on her arm and rubbing it in with broad strokes.

Byleth copies the motion, rubbing her hand down the length of her thigh, letting her fingers spread as she strokes her own skin. 

“Ye--es. Just like that,” Ingrid says. “You probably want to take some of the sunscreen from your legs and put it on other places, too. There’s too much there for it to all soak in.” 

Byleth dips her hand between her thighs again, coating her hand in lotion, and then reaches up to rub her own abdomen, running her hand up and down from her ribcage to the line of her hips. Her fingers slide under her dagger belt, easy and intimate, as she touches herself all over and leaves every inch of skin glistening from the lotion. 

Ingrid looks away. Maybe she needs some more lotion, too; it feels like her face is burning, and she’s not even directly in the sun anymore. “That’s good. Your swimsuit is pretty small, so remember to get the space between - ” her eyes stray to Byleth’s breasts, so big and round where they press together. “I mean, everywhere your swimsuit doesn’t cover.”

Byleth’s face is entirely blank as she slides both hands under her bikini top, squeezing her own breasts as she massages the lotion into them. 

The motion of her hands is hypnotic. She runs her fingers underneath her breasts, cupping them, then slides her hands all the way up, squeezing as she goes. Her breasts spill over her hands every step of the way, too big to be contained, so she makes another pass to lotion the parts she missed before.

“That’s...good,” Ingrid says weakly. She suddenly realizes she’s pressing her own thighs together very obviously and forces herself to spread her knees a little. “I think you’ve got the hang of it. I’ll leave you another vial in case you need it.” 

She somehow manages to get the vial out of her bag and onto the towel beside Byleth before she shakily makes her way to her feet, covering her face in her hands as she turns. She’s fine. So her body feels hot all over and for some reason her mouth suddenly feels really sensitive and she can’t stop biting her own lip. It’s the sun. She just needs to take a dip in the water and cool off. 

Ingrid stands there a moment longer, trying to regulate her own breathing. She’s only just gotten her equilibrium back when she feels a tap on her shoulder.

Byleth stands there, the unopened vial of sunscreen in one hand. She’s gleaming all over; out in the sun, it’s only more obvious, every inch of her shining and supple. Ingrid barely manages to make herself swallow. “Professor?” 

“I can’t get my back,” Byleth says. “Would you help me?”

“Of course,” Ingrid says weakly. 

She follows Byleth back under the umbrella robotically, standing there dumbly as Byleth kneels down on the towel before spreading herself out on her stomach with her legs parted. 

It really is a tiny swimsuit. It can’t contain the swell of Byleth’s ass, big and round, and the little scraps of fabric only emphasize the muscles in Byleth’s arms and the strength of her thighs. When Ingrid pushes aside Byleth’s soft black cape, she sees how the straps of the bikini top curve around Byleth’s back muscles, strong and firm from her choker all the way down past her shoulder blades and to the small of her back.

Ingrid uncorks the vial of lotion. For some reason, it takes her a few tries. She can’t quite concentrate on it. 

“I’ll get the area above your top,” she manages to say. “You can do the rest.”

With her eyes closed and her cheek sinking into the soft towel, Byleth looks like she could be asleep. But Ingrid isn’t that lucky, because Byleth immediately says, “do all of it.” 

“All of…” Ingrid looks helplessly down at the backs of Byleth’s thighs, wet and smeared with lotions from where her first attempt dripped all over the place, then all the way down to her toes. It’s a lot of looking. Byleth isn’t that tall, but somehow her legs just seem to go on and on. “That’s a lot to do.”

“It’s more efficient this way,” Byleth says, entirely unconcerned. “I’ll grade you on your performance.” 

“I’ll do my best!” Ingrid says automatically before she considers whether that was supposed to be a joke. 

Well, she’s been given her orders. She pours some lotion into her palm, corking the vial again one-handedly and setting it back down on the towel before rubbing her hands together to warm it. It doesn’t really need it, already warm from the summer sun shining its way through Ingrid’s bag, but Ingrid takes her time with it anyway as she tries to formulate a plan of attack. 

Byleth’s upper back is as good a place to start as any. Ingrid smooths a tentative hand over Byleth’s spine, between the thin straps of her swimsuit. Despite her time in the shade, Byleth’s skin is hot. Ingrid feels like her hand is tingling as she strokes it over the hard planes of Byleth’s muscular back, feeling the soft skin over her steel. She mirrors the movement with her other hand, spreading the lotion out from the center and watching as her hands smooth over Byleth’s shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles there without her permission. 

“Mm…” Byleth says.

Ingrid jumps. “Oh! Sorry Professor. I didn’t mean to go so hard there.”

“It’s fine,” Byleth says. “It feels good.” 

“R-right.” Ingrid pours a little more lotion in her hands, then kneels over Byleth’s body to stroke her way down Byleth’s arms, rubbing careful circles to make sure she gets every inch of her. Byleth’s upper arms are so soft, though the muscles underneath are firm and visible even when Byleth’s resting like this. Ingrid bites her lip and tells herself she’s just being thorough as she rubs her thumbs into Byleth’s biceps. 

“Your swimsuit is...very small,” Ingrid says as she returns to Byleth’s back, trailing her hands down from the juncture of Byleth’s shoulders to get the area under the thin little straps.

“Dorothea gave it to me,” Byleth says.

Of course she did. 

Ingrid keeps running her hands over Byleth’s back, trying not to focus on the way she’s suddenly feeling warmth emanating out from beneath her own swimsuit. It’s obviously - jealousy, that Byleth can be so unconcerned wearing something so revealing in public. Or something. She can’t really be enjoying how pliant Byleth is in her hands, letting Ingrid touch her wherever she wants. 

Ingrid thinks about the way Byleth unselfconsciously groped her own breasts and has to take her hands off Byleth and just breathe for a second. 

Then she makes herself get back to it, because her professor gave her an assignment and she’s going to complete it. 

“I should get your lower back, too, right?” Ingrid whispers. She doesn’t know why she’s being so quiet, or why her voice comes out so low. But Byleth only gives her a short nod. With her head turned to the side like this, it’s even easier to read her expression somehow. Her eyelashes fan delicately over her cheek and her mouth, pink and small, opens a little, like she’s so relaxed she could fall asleep any moment. 

“Okay,” Ingrid says to herself, because she’s having trouble tearing her eyes from Byleth’s face and needs the verbal reminder. “I’m just...going to…” 

She slides herself down and immediately realizes she’s made a mistake, because that definitely is Byleth’s ass directly underneath her, warm and soft and round. 

Ingrid swallows, hard. 

She should keep scooting down. It’ll be easier to work on Byleth’s lower back while sitting on her legs, or kneeling above them.

Instead, she stays where she is as she smooths more lotions down Byleth’s back, starting right where the band of her bikini top ends. She starts at the dip of Byleth’s spine and strokes her hands out, all the way until they wrap around Byleth’s sides, almost to the swell of Byleth’s breasts where they’re pressed against the towel. 

She keeps stroking down, feeling Byleth’s back rise and fall with her breath. It’s a nice back, strong and smooth, warm everywhere Ingrid touches it. She suddenly can’t help but remember her own lance calluses on her fingers and palm. They must be rough, even with the lotion helping them glide over Byleth’s skin. She hopes it doesn’t feel unpleasant. 

Ingrid shifts forward, trying to ignore the way that presses Byleth’s ass harder against her. Byleth’s face is still serene. Her mouth is opened a little wider, but her face is smooth and untroubled by pain. Ingrid licks her own lips and watches as a little tremor, nearly imperceptible, runs over Byleth’s face, just as Ingrid kneads her back. It seems like she’s enjoying it. 

Ingrid’s hands linger as she reaches the top of Byleth’s swimsuit bottom, rubbing circles into the skin there. It doesn’t cover Byleth’s whole ass; Ingrid has to smooth more lotion into the top of it, feeling how hot Byleth’s skin is, how soft her ass is. The flesh dimples under Ingrid’s fingertips and she has to stop herself from squeezing. 

Just the thought makes her shut her eyes. “This is inappropriate,” she mutters, then darts a guilty glance at Byleth’s face. 

Byleth doesn’t seem to have heard her. Her face is still untroubled, her dark blue hair fanning over her cheek.

Ingrid wants to touch it. Instead, she wipes her oily hands against her own legs and somehow forces herself to stand. 

“You can do your own legs,” Ingrid says.

Byleth’s eye cracks open. “Leaving the job half-finished,” she says. “Poor result.”

Ingrid laughs awkwardly. “It’s better for you to practice! Anyway. I’m going to. Goodbye!” 

She grabs her lance and marches straight to the water. Then she keeps on marching until she’s up to her neck in it, where she can finally duck her head under the water and scream. 

A moment later, she reemerges, hacking on seawater. That wasn’t her greatest idea ever. At least the terror she felt when she accidentally inhaled underwater seems to have overridden the...other thing she was feeling.

She casts a wary eye on the shore, but Byleth is no longer lounging around on her towel, though Ingrid sees her bag is still where she left it. Presumably Byleth’s off putting her new sun protection to good use. Ingrid resolves to not think about it. 

At least the muddy ocean floor is soft under her feet, no broken shells catching her out. And Dorothea is easy to find at the shore, sprawled out on her own dark red towel in the sun, a glass filled with some big tropical-looking cocktail hanging loosely from one hand as she adjusts her hat lower over her face with the other. 

“Enjoy your swim?” Dorothea asks without bothering to look up, apparently attuned to the sound of Ingrid’s angry stomping. “If you want to go for another, you could always join the Professor. I saw her wading out farther. Hopefully the tide won’t rip her top off! It’s not secured very well.” 

Ingrid shuts her eyes. “Dorothea?”

“Yes, Ingrid?”

“ _Stop helping me._ ”


End file.
